The Queen Who Should Have Been and the King Who Was
by Ramzes
Summary: She is the Queen Who Never Was and he is the king who did take the throne. A series of oneshots featuring Princess Rhaenys Targaryen and King Viserys I Targaryen. Major spoilers for The Princess and the Queen and The Rogue Prince!
1. A King's Choice

**The Queen Who Should Have Been and the King Who Was**

_A King's Choice_

The bright lights in the room gave him a headache and the drunken merriness of the guests looked outright indecent. Only a few months ago, those people had been bowing to Rhaenys, currying favour with her for the time she would be the King's heir; now, they all looked quite eager to forget that she had ever been that. _It's politics_, Viserys reminded himself firmly without much effect: it still looked indecent.

"Thinking of escaping?"

Viserys startled and looked up. His father's eyes were harsh, not asking a question but merely expecting a confirmation. "Why would I?"

"That's what I'd like to know," Baelon Targaryen sighed and wondered what in the name of the Seven should he do with this peculiar boy. Viserys was pleased that his father would be King, no doubt, yet at the same time the boy's sadness on Rhaenys' behalf was downright troubling. It was more than what was merited. A merciful king was a blessing but Baelon had the feeling that Viserys would be way too amiable and sensitive one. Once again, he felt that he had made the right decision when he didn't even contemplate Rhaenys as a match for Viserys. The girl was so forceful that she would have walked right over her cousin. No, gentle Aemma was a far better choice… despite her disturbing failure to stay with child long enough for it to be born alive.

"She'll come around," the King spoke suddenly, startling both of them with his soundless appearing. His bright eyes held them in place. "She's a smart girl. I'll send for her tomorrow. She'll see reason. I have something for her to sweeten the bile. She has always loved rubies, has she not?"

Viserys held his tongue although he didn't agree. For all his wisdom, Jaehaerys Targaryen had forgotten what it was like to be young and feel wronged. Rhaenys was hardly one who would sit patiently and let someone explain to her why it was all good and right that she be deprived of what everyone had assumed would be hers one day.

"Your Grace," Aemma said, coming to them with a smile and a curtsey. Her brown hair was decorated with pearls that attracted the light of every candle nearby. Her expression was as serene as ever. "May I have a word with Viserys?"

Jaehaerys waved a hand; quite relieved, Viserys took his wife's hand and followed her to a corner.

"Vultures," Aemma murmured, staring at a very particular group of people – officials who had once crawled at Aemon and Rhaenys' feet and rushed to Baelon as soon as it became clear what the end would be.

"Quite right," Viserys agreed. These men did not belong with his father's people, did not deserve to share in the joy of having Baelon proclaimed the heir. "I thought you wanted a word with me?"

She did not answer immediately, her purple eyes staring at him thoughtfully. She shook her head. "In fact, I didn't. I just thought there might be many words you wouldn't want to have with them."

He kissed her hand, grateful and slightly ashamed that he had needed her help. But he had never been the one for quarrels. Daemon, though, more than made up for that.

"Would you care for a dance, my lady?" he asked. "As soon as I come back. I have to take care of something."

Aemma smiled at him with the same affection that he had for her. "I can't wait," she said. "And, Viserys?" she added when he was already a step away from her.

He turned back.

"Tell her I hope to see her soon."

He nodded and went to the door, wondering when on earth had she learned to read his mind.

In the stable where the royal dragons were kept, Meleys looked at him and roared before her mistress even saw him. Not a good sign: he had always been in the she-dragon's good books, ever since he and Rhaenys had come here together as children. Of course, he had been in Rhaenys' good books then as well…

"What are you doing here?" she snapped as soon as she saw him; with some relief, he saw that there were no tears in her eyes, just fire. _Fire and blood_, their words were and fire and blood she was. That was good since Viserys could usually solve any situation with his humour and good nature. Anything but a woman's tears. "Have you come to gloat?"

He made a step towards her. Meleys hissed out a small flame. He did not stop and Rhaenys raised a hand, absent-mindedly, and patted her on the scales to calm her down. Viserys took it as a good sign: clearly, his cousin didn't want him to end up as roasted meat. "Where are you going?"

She shrugged, avoiding eye contact. "I am leaving," she said. "I asked what are you doing here? Aren't you supposed to be at the celebration? You love those."

"Not this one," he said. He could never enjoy such a festivity knowing that it caused her pain.

Rhaenys turned her back at him and went back on saddling Meleys.

"I won't cause any problems," she said. "If that's what worries you. His Grace made his decision and I will not bring destruction to Westeros fighting it."

He felt hurt and offended. Was that what she really thought, that he had come here just to make sure she wouldn't threaten his father's succession?

"Have you forgotten?" he asked and once again, Rhaenys looked away, the silence and torchlight between them bringing to life their childhood, their shared fascination with dragons, the moment each of them bonded with their beast, his coming to the rescue when she was stuck with a bunch of girls, she rubbing his back and shoulders when his pride wouldn't let him show that practice with arms had left him aching and exhausted, the explorations of the tunnels beneath the Red Keep, the roaming of the land on their dragons…

All of a sudden, she let the saddle clatter down and reached for his hand. Her nails were carefully shaped and painted… and broken here and there from her activities with Meleys. It was always like this with her. Unlike Aemma who was a lady in every situation, there were two persons dwelling under Rhaenys' skin: the refined princess and the wild child. That was what their grandfather had seen, that was maybe the main reason he had chosen Viserys' father.

"You are a good man, Viserys," she said, her voice now softer. "Always willing to please everyone. But there are hurts that are hard to heal. I cannot stay here. Corlys will join me any minute now and take me away."

There was a rare note of tenderness in her voice that made Viserys look at her, surprised. But _she loves him_, he realized, stunned. Aemma had always claimed that it was the case but he had never believed her. Corlys Velaryon was many years Rhaenys' senior, wed to her as politically as Viserys had been wed to Aemma. What could a woman of fire like his cousin find in an old sea snake? This marriage should feel like chains to her. _Strength_, he thought. _Rhaenys had always been drawn to strength, for she is strong herself._

Not that it mattered. Lord Velaryon's strength hadn't been enough to give his wife what she wanted and believed was hers.

"No one wanted to hurt you," he said. "My father and the King least of all."

She dismissed his words with a derisive gesture. "What do intentions matter? Actions are what we leave behind. At the end, your father and you will have it all and I'll be left with nothing. I think His Grace believed he was doing what was best for the realm. I respect his right to choose his heir. But you cannot expect of me to rejoice in it."

This time, it was he who looked away. Why had he come? Hadn't he known in advance that would be an exercise in futility? There was no way for Rhaenys not to realize that she had been judged and found lacking, no way for her not to seethe with resentment and anger against the injustice she believed had been done to her. She had lost a crown and her place in life.

_Grandfather wasn't so wise_, _after all,_ he thought not for a first time. _He's a man of logic and expects everyone to follow it. He expects that she'd be pleased with a new necklace he presents her, as if she were still eight. He has forgotten what it's like to be young. _

But in fact, it was more than that that the King had forgotten. It was true that Baelon was a man of many makings that Rhaenys did not possess. But Jaehaerys seemed to turn a blind eye to the fact that his son had not been born like this. He was judging Baelon for the man he had become and Rhaenys for the girl she still was, not the woman she would grow into. Viserys had no idea what his father had been like in the nineteenth year of his life but he remembered him at twenty-odd. Baelon had not been this different from Rhaenys.

"I don't expect it," he said. "Just come back. Aemma said the same thing."

His cousin smiled tightly. "I expect that I will, finally. There are formalities to be observed. Until then, tell the King that Aemma can have the trinket he undoubtedly means to placate me with."

Somehow, those calm words conveyed her heartache and betrayal more than her angry welcome of him. He looked down, not willing to watch her saddling Meleys fully, leading her out, leaving the stable and joining Velaryon who no doubt waited for her outside. Always cheerful and good-humoured, Viserys Targaryen did not lack for perceptiveness and he could say that a period of his life was over – in more than one way.


	2. The Dread Is Gone from the World

Thanks to everyone who took the time to leave a review.

_The Queen Who Should Have Been and the King Who Was_

**The Dread is Gone from The World**

"Does she sleep?" the Prince of Dragonstone asked. "I mean, _ever_?"

Rhaenys shrugged and the infant in her arms turned her violet eyes at Baelon to stare indignantly. He smiled. "I didn't mean to offend," he apologized but little Laena Velaryon was not placated; her face crunched but she didn't start crying.

"It happens from time to time," her mother explained. "She sleeps best when we're riding Meleys."

"So, we have a dragonrider from the cradle here," Baelon concluded and determinedly pushed the thought that he might have made a mistake away. Aemma had just suffered another miscarriage. He was starting to doubt whether she'd ever give him grandsons. Rhaenys looked as vibrant as ever, fully recovered from the birth only a few moons ago. He had heard that she had gone back on Meleys only two weeks later.

"May I hold her?" the Queen asked. "Or is she going to be afraid of me?"

Rhaenys shook her head. "She isn't. She'll come to you. I've heard that many babes this young are afraid of strangers but she rarely is. I don't know why."

_Strangers_, Alysanne Targaryen mused, cuddling the child. _It's so sad that we'll be strangers to her._ Her granddaughter had taken Jaehaerys' decision with grace and dignity but it had opened a rift between them. Alysanne huffed in despair, giving the babe her hand to stare entranced at the glittering sapphire on her ring-finger. Men could be so unpredictable when it came to matters of heart or power and when those two combined, they were invulnerable to reason. They should have just wed Rhaenys to Viserys but no, it hadn't been allowed to happen. Even her husband, ever praised for his wisdom, was very wrong about those two. Viserys was kind but not weak; Rhaenys was strong but not rude. There was no reason for the marriage not to work… or their joint rule. Instead, the men had alienated Rhaenys and were now exerting undue pressure on Aemma. As if she would wish for anything else than a living child! As if she thwarted their grand plans on purpose!

As if she had read her grandmother's thoughts, Rhaenys rose. "I'll go to see Aemma," she said, motioning to Laena's nursemaid to come and take the child. "I suppose Viserys will also be there?"

"He might," Baelon said. "Or he might be up to something useful, like finding himself a new dragon."

Rhaenys sighed impatiently. "Balerion has been dead only in a fortnight…"

"So Viserys has been dragonless for a fortnight already," her grandfather said. "He has to tame one of the other dragons. Vhagar would make a lovely mount for him."

Startled by the irritation in their voices, Laena gave a warning cry – just one, so they would know she was disgruntled. Alysanne rocked her but the babe startled wriggling until the Queen was forced to leave her on the nearest table where Laena immediately calmed down.

_Leave Viserys alone_, Rhaenys wanted to yell. She could not even imagine Meleys being dead and she pressured into finding another dragon so soon after her death. People grieved for their dead horses, for the Seven's sakes, and dragons were so much more. Now, besides his grief, he had to deal with the pressure of those two who were actively trying into turning him into the ruler they thought would be perfect. _For the throne that should have belonged to me._ As usual, she chased the thought away. There had never been someone who had been helped by self-pity.

Of course, she didn't share her thoughts. It wasn't as if her grandfather and uncle were interested in them anyway. She had only come to present her daughter in the Red Keep and nothing more. She might have been passed over but Laena was of Targaryen blood and Rhaenys would make sure that she received all the benefits coming from that.

"May I keep the little one here while you come back?" Alysanne asked and despite the soft tone, that was not a question. Rhaenys didn't protest. Laena would be as well cared for here as she would be anywhere else.

She kissed the little girl and Laena gurgled in reply but didn't start crying when her mother headed for the door. She was a strange, self-sufficient child.

In her cousins' chambers, Rhaenys found Aemma sitting in front of the hearth, shivering slightly as her attendants hovered nearby; with a single gesture of her hand and a small smile, the young woman waved them away and turned at Rhaenys, smiling. "I am so glad to see you," she said. "So happy. The Red Keep has been terribly dull without you."

"Why, thank you, kind lady!" Rhaenys said and went to hug her. Drawing back, she assessed her cousin quickly and didn't like what she saw. Aemma was terribly thin, her eyes were swollen and bruised black, like those of the sleep-deprived. Her skin was too pale, even more so against her dark hair, and the pulse throbbed erratically on her temple. "I've missed you."

"And I, you." Aemma smiled. "What is the Red Keep without you? But I heard there were many good things happening to you. My ladies say you've brought the little one with you?"

Rhaenys looked around. She had always had things of luxury but with Aemma, it looked sad and somehow tragic: the thick carpets that drowned one's feet, the tapestries with flowers and mountains from her distant Vale home, the silks and velvets everywhere, the huge looking-glass, the windows open with the futile hope of letting some of the sun in this day of 94 year after Aegon's Crowning in. Beauty and perfection. Aemma clung to them so desperately.

"I have," Rhaenys said, carefully. "I left her with the Queen." She smiled a little, eager to change the topic. "Is Viserys here?" she asked and immediately realized that she had said something wrong.

Aemma's waxy face went even paler. "No," she said sharply. "And I don't want to know where he is."

Such an outburst was so untypical of kind, polite Aemma that Rhaenys only stared at her in astonishment as Aemma offered her some refreshments. "What's going on here? Grandfather and Uncle Baelon are ready to place Viserys under guard, it seems, if he doesn't bond another dragon… yesterday. Grandmother speaks only when she needs to. Daemon seems to be as uncontrollable as ever. Viserys has disappeared somewhere…"

Aemma's hands shook over the silver jug as she poured tea for both of them. "Your beloved cousin is mourning this dragon more than he ever did our children," she snapped. "That's getting ridiculous. Balerion was never human. He cannot be this important to Viserys, yet he behaves as if the Doom had come again. He doesn't sleep. He doesn't talk to me. I can only hope he mourns my death half as much!"

"Oh Aemma," Rhaenys breathed, feeling desperately sorry for both of them. She could only imagine what Aemma was going through, having lost another babe and now her husband's closeness as he mourned a loss she could not possibly understand. "You don't mean it."

"I do." There was a defensive flash in Aemma's eyes before it died away and she leaned back in her chair. "And I happen to think that Grandfather and Uncle Baelon are right. He should just ride another dragon and be done with showing this heartbroken face to the world. It's unbelievable!"

_I'd like to see Grandfather and Uncle Baelon losing their dragons_, Rhaenys thought and touched Aemma's hand again. _Only when I see them acting as if their dragons are so very replaceable will I think them justified to ask it of Viserys._

All of a sudden, her hands flew to her face and didn't quite reach it before she slumped in her chair and the world went black. Next thing she knew, Aemma was leaning over her and the Grand Maester was congratulating her on her new pregnancy.

"I can't believe it!" she burst out as soon as she heard it. "Laena is not a year old yet. I don't want to get with child so soon after and I am certainly _not_ giving birth again!"

Aemma's face changed so much that upon seeing her, Rhaenys immediately regretted this childish outburst. But her cousin only smiled faintly, reading her expression correctly. "You should rejoice," Aemma said as the Grand Maester gathered his things. "I want to have a child more than I have ever wanted anything else."

"I know."

Rhaenys reached for Aemma's hand and noticed the reflection of the candlelight dancing off it. Her spell must have been quite short, for it was not quite dark yet. "I know," she said again. "You will."

As much as she tried to think of Aemma, thoughts about her own life kept sneaking in. She couldn't wait to go to Corlys and tell him, feel his arms around her, start refurnishing the nursery in Driftmark. _Aemma is right,_ she thought and embraced her. _I should rejoice. I do rejoice._

* * *

The hiss and flame of five dragons had turned to be enough to scare all those catering to them away. By the look of it, there had been an accident with the feeling, although Rhaenys couldn't quite say what it was. Angry winds and rampant shrieks, thumping tails and bloodied scales followed her through her way to Meleys; relieved, Rhaenys saw that her she-dragon was untouched, just annoyed. For a while, she stood there, touching Meleys' leg and whispering to her, until she spotted the glint of a silvery-gold hair not far away from her, where the turn of the hallway led to yet some others stalls.

"Aemma has been looking for you," she said, going near.

His expression didn't change, his eyes still fixed the dragons with unbearable mix of hunger and grief, and envy. It was startling to see the ever smiling, carefree Viserys looking so utterly confused, as if he had lost his way in life. Thinking back, Rhaenys remembered how important had it been for him to tame a dragon, to tame _Balerion_, to make everyone look at him with respect. _Aemma isn't a dragonrider_, she thought. _She can never understand_. And Jaehaerys and Baelon who were – they were too blinded by their perception of Viserys as somewhat malleable to stop and think what they would have done in his shoes.

"He wasn't replaceable," Viserys suddenly spoke and the determination in his eyes gave her pause. "I am not taking another dragon just because they feel that I should."

_Malleable, what not!_ Rhaenys thought to herself. One needed tremendous amount of strength to refuse an order from either the Old King or the Prince of Dragonstone.

The hissing and spitting had doused the torches but the flames dragons gave out lit the scene all the same. Rhaenys took Viserys' hand, the same way she had done with Aemma's, and squeezed. There were no words needed, no sympathies. Just the soft warmth of her silent presence. He squeezed back.


	3. The Price of Knowing

As always, thanks to everyone who reviewed.

_The Queen Who Should Have Been and the King Who Was_

**The Price of Knowing**

"It's Velaryon's doing."

They were not having this conversation once again. She would not stand for it. She could already recite it word for word and besides, it wouldn't change a thing. Actually, she would be disappointed if it did. Rhaenys was nothing if not a fighter. Aemma had never desired to be a fighter herself but she admired it in her spirited cousin.

She reached for her goblet of Dornish red and then reconsidered. _I've become too fond of my wine_, she thought and instead stared at the sun sinking slowly into the sea. Rays, as red as the wine, cut through the palace gardens beneath their windows and splashed multicoloured spots on the marble floor, vibrant with the reflections of the tapestries on the wall. Aemma tried to feel a ripple of breeze, however slight, but there was none. Just this long summer, with its oppressive heat. _Too much good isn't good at all_, her lord father had used to say.

"She wouldn't have tried it if it was up to her," Viserys went on, pacing the solar relentlessly. "She accepted His Grace's decision."

"And she would have accepted it once again if he was fit to make one," Aemma reminded him. "Isn't that the whole purpose of the Great Council?"

Her husband shot her a look of anger. She was supposed to side with him. She owed loyalty to him before all others. But then, what had he expected? She could be quite obstinate whenever she decided that she disagreed. Once she made up her mind about which was the proper way to act, there was no moving her. Not Aemma As High as Honour Arryn! She could only see the fact that Rhaenys was entitled to make her claim without losing honour. The broader ramifications completely escaped her mind.

"She will lose," he said softly, the entire power of his conviction behind the measured words. For all his certainty that his claim was the rightful one, he didn't want to see Rhaenys put through the humiliation of a second rejection. "And it will cause a further rift."

Aemma shook her head. "If so, she will accept it like she did before. She won't tear the realm apart."

"But she will hate us."

All of a sudden, Aemma felt that she had put up with this long enough. She rose abruptly and met her husband's eye anger to anger. "_Us?_ Have I missed something? When did I become the one who challenged her claim? It's you that she'll hate, Viserys, you! Don't drag me into this."

His expression changed so suddenly that she was immediately sorry for the cruelty of her barb. But she was so tired of people hating and disliking her. She didn't need to be reminded of the possibility of Rhaenys becoming one of them. At the end, even her uncle Baelon had been unable to conceal his regret for saddling his son with a woman who could not give him an heir, no matter how kind she was. Aemma's greatest fear was that she'd never give birth to a son. And by the precedent that had been created for Baelon, Rhaenyra could never inherit her father's crown… if he was to have one after all. She might not inherit anything at all… Actually, Aemma was afraid that this precedent would be used to disinherit royal women completely. And if them, why not the other heiresses in the kingdom? _I wonder whether they realized what they started_, she thought.

"I am sorry," she said after a while, her voice calmer now. She sat back down. "My nerves are on edge, that's all."

Viserys came near and looked her in the eye. "You don't want me to win, do you?"

She shook her head. "No, that isn't it. I've seen how much effort you put into learning a king's ways. I am just scared."

"What of, by the Mother? You're afraid of Rhaenys?"

"No."

"What is it, then?"

"I'm afraid that you're right. That she'll distance herself from us even more." Her voice became small yet. "I'm scared that I'd never give you a son…"

He sighed, sat down next to her and embraced her. "Don't harbor such thoughts. We'll have a son, you'll see."

She pressed her face against his chest. "And if we don't?"

"Then Rhaenyra will need a husband," he said easily. "Who better than Laenor Velaryon? But it won't come to that. We'll have a son who will wed her."

Aemma said nothing, although a new worry shot through her. Viserys was smart and stronger than many people gave him credit for but he had one immense weakness: he wanted to believe that at the end, everyone would be happy and in peace with everyone else. Sometimes, he actually allowed himself to believe it. And that pushed him towards the wrong decisions.

_What a pity_, she thought. _None of us wants death and darkness – not Viserys, not Rhaenys and her Corlys Velaryon and certainly not I. Yet that's what this Council will lead to, in the long run, no matter what the final decision will be._

The sun finally finished its prolonged descent and sank into the sea with a final farewell of splendid arrays, bright arrows of light bathed in blood. Aemma Targaryen shivered.

* * *

"The North gave its answer."

In the torchlight, Rhaenys' face looked just as young as that of the girl who had wed him nine years ago and ten times lovelier. She handed him the missive and he took it. Out of habit, he read it with sharp attention, despite knowing that no matter what it read, that would change nothing. But he liked seeing the animation on her face anyway. _Let her relish the support._ At the same time, he feared that the outcome would hit her harder if she let herself believe…

"Storm's End and the North," he said, trying to smile. "Not a bad start, my little dragon."

"Not a bad start?" she laughed. "I'd say it's the best start possible!"

_The start to the end_, Corlys finished in his head. The Tyrells and the Lannisters were firmly in Viserys' camp. The Vale went without saying – Lord Arryn would always support his sister's husband against their other cousin. The Tullys were just as likely to be swayed to them as they were to be swayed to Viserys. The Grand Maester and the Great Septon were known for their firm opinion where a woman's place was concerned...

"Maybe they should have wed you to that Dornish prince," he said, only half-joking. "He would have been most vocal in supporting your claim. After all, he was his mother's heir."

The joy slowly ebbed away from Rhaenys' face and she shivered in the staggering heat that refused to leave with daylight. Naturally. After all those years, he could never disguise his true thoughts from her. "Corlys," she said, barely audibly. "I am not going to be queen, am I?"

"No," he said honestly. "You are not."

A single sob burst from her throat. He looked aside, unable to watch the death of a dream. Not the dream of a crown – not entirely. Maybe not even mainly. But the dream of a wrong being redressed, a right that had been taken from her being recovered. Then, she bowed her head and returned to her parchments, as if nothing had happened, nothing at all.

"Rhaenys?" he asked hesitantly and then again, louder. "Rhaenys? My lady?"

A small movement of a shoulder was the only sign of acknowledgment. But Corlys was having none of it. He might be aging now, but damn it, he still had enough strength to pick up a small woman and seat her on his knee, her face close to his. "Give up," he said softly.

She shook her head. "I cannot."

"You must."

As smart and experienced in courtly way as she was, his lady wife was still innocent in many of the ways of life. She could never imagine the arguments that would be put up in front of the Council, from doubts about her judgment through slurs against her morals, to the downright offenses to her ability of a ruler. Corlys could almost hear them already… _"Is her dragon going to suffer her in battle if she's… unclean? Can she lead an army if she's with child? Why won't she be with child every year to secure the succession? That's a primary duty of a queen… How is she supposed to rein the lords in when she's subjected to her own lord husband's will? And well, no offense but Lord Velaryon is of age… What's going to happen when he cannot fulfill the needs… of the realm? The Queen will have to seek a new… counselor and that would be unacceptable…" _And that was the mildest case scenario!

Rhaenys' eyes suddenly burned like Meleys'. "I have to try."

"Why?" he asked. "I don't understand. There is a great chance that you'll lose."

She nodded in grim acceptance. "But at least I'll never ask myself, _Could I have won?_"

_Will you have the strength this fight demands_, Corlys wanted to ask but he didn't out of fear of offending her. _Yes, you will._

Pity that he wasn't sure he could say the same thing for the man who would be their king.


	4. Burdens

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The Queen Who Should Have Been and the King Who Was

_Burdens_

The entire Red Keep seemed to have turned to eyes, eyes following Aemma's every move, every sigh, every small groan of acute misery. She could feel that a good deal of those were well-wishing eyes, eyes of people who prayed for a safe delivery and strong son but even that laid a burden on her, a burden she was reconciled to carry but it weighed her down. All those who hoped for a son to secure the succession against the poisonous whispers that the King had married the wrong cousin, that Rhaenys was superior to Aemma in the most important aspect of all, that maybe they had made a mistake by choosing Viserys who might end up being succeeded by Daemon if Aemma failed yet again to give him an heir while Rhaenys' children were both healthy and thriving… all those who prayed for a boy to save them from Daemon's kingship… So many hopes that they crushed her. She wanted to be left alone for a while, to be allowed to be tired and indisposed as a woman with child was wont to but it was not an option for a queen. She and her child were everyone's affair and that meant that what little privacy she had had before was now lost to her.

The winter held Westeros in its icy embrace. Since one slip in the frosted garden and the fright that had followed, Aemma had been forbidden to leave the palace buildings for safety reasons. It was the first time that she started feeling… dragonlike. Once caged like the huge creatures in the Dragonpit, she started raging and breathing fire just like them. Her ladies hurried to obey without the slightest delay; servants took her ire over the most insignificant things although she was very apologetic later and accompanied her apologies with a nicely filled purse; the Kingsguard trailing her soon got used not to ask whether she was fine each time she placed a hand on her belly with a small moan. Even Rhaenyra was now more restrained in her presence, confirming her guess that the child just tested her limits. And Viserys treated her with greater tenderness than usual, something that she hadn't thought possible. With time, it had become hard for her to remember why she hadn't wanted to wed him… until, at night, a sharp pang in the heart reminded her of the reason, searing her heart with the poison of the untasted, unknown, not meant to be.

The winter showed no intention of withdrawing but Aemma's hard pregnancy was going to its end. Everything had already been prepared for the birth. The maesters and midwives waited, ready to intervene the moment she felt the first pangs.

Aemma would rather give birth under one of the kitchen tables but of course, she would do it with all royal ceremonies. She could already feel it would be soon. One night, she woke up all of a sudden, shaking with cold, her first thought being that the fire in the hearth had died away but no, it was burning bright, producing flames that drenched her in sweat but she was still shivering as if she stood naked in the cold outside.

She had sent her attendants away, as she always did at night. In those last few weeks, she would not suffer them even in the antechamber, her raw nerves excited even by such small things like their turning to one side in bed. She thought she should call them now but she didn't want to get everyone talking. She wanted these last few weeks before her child's arrival for herself.

She rose and took all the covers and clothes she could find. Piled them on the bed. Kept shaking after buring herself under them, her arms and legs getting cold, her heart beating slower, the air coming to her lungs ever so irregularly.

_I'm dying._

Her first thought was about Rhaenyra. Her second, that she could not do this to her daughter. Her desire to see her could not fight the fear that she'd die right there, in front of Rhaenyra's terrified eyes.

She was now running through a labyrinth, each turn taking her to a different thought. She longed to see Yohn Royce but he was far away in her beloved Vale, helping his brother rule in little Jeyne's stead.

_I'm dying_, she thought again and led by the desire to see Viserys, at least, for the last time, she grabbed the first mantle she saw in her closet and without tying it, ran through the antechamber, leaving her attendants stunned but too scared to follow after she explicitly told them not to. Ser Ilam of the Kingsguard fell in step behind her, his stride measured, for Aemma was so heavy that her desperate run didn't make this much of a difference from her usual walk.

The Kingsguard in front of the King's bedchamber looked at her in horror that she could not fathom. "Your Grace," he said haltingly. "I'll call the King…"

"There's no need," she managed to say through her tightening throat. "I'll wake him up."

"But Your Grace… you shouldn't…"

"Step aside," she ordered briskly, infuriated by his defiance; pale as ghost, he obeyed and Aemma rushed inside, chased by her fear and her desire to see a beloved face before she died.

In the light of the dying fire, she saw two heads on the pillow.

She cried out and they both jumped in bed. For a moment, Aemma stood stunned, detachedly recognizing the girl – the young Alicent Hightower. Then, she turned back and ran out of the bedchamber.

"Aemma!" Viserys shouted but she didn't want to hear his voice ever again, didn't want to listen to his explanations, meet his eye, anything. She knew what he'd say – that she hadn't been able to accept him in her bed, that it was only a passing fancy, that the girl didn't mean anything for their marriage. It was all true – Aemma knew it. But it didn't matter. All those horrible months of this painful pregnancy when she had been afraid to lean over out of fear for the child, to drink too much water, to eat too little – he had been bedding the Hightower girl. Aemma knew she wasn't Viserys' first and she had never taken offense to the others – but the timing made it all more terrible. And in the royal bed, no less! Did everyone know? Did they snicker behind their hands at their barren Queen who _of course_ couldn't keep her husband's interest, especially when she was carrying his heir? Did they make bets about when Alicent would supplant Aemma not only in the King's affections but in his favour?

Did he intend to celebrate the birth of Aemma's child _privately_ with Alicent?

She was now racing down the stairs, in the dark, not caring that she might fall down, not feeling the cold through the mantle that she had not secured. Ser Ilam ran after her, begging her to stop but not daring to lay a hand upon her.

"Aemma, listen!" Viserys shouted behind her.

But she didn't want to listen to him ever again. She turned into a corner and stayed there, holding her breath, as he and the two Kingsguard went past her, running in the direction they supposed she was still moving in. Then, she turned to her left, quietly, and groping her way, headed to the upper floors of Maegor's Holdfast.

For a long time, she stood on the roof, thinking of the girl she had been, of her years in the Vale, of the boy, now a man grown, with children of his own, that she had dreamed to wed. She had given up on all of it to do her duty – and that was how Viserys was repaying her, stabbing her in the back when she was in the most precarious time of her life. And if he could do this now, who could say he wouldn't do it again tomorrow? She imagined her future, a bleak one, filled with pregnancies and nurseries, and turning a blind eye to Viserys' cheating that was sure to become open… soon. The thought of letting go, of slumping down and finding her dead on the sharp spikes in the bottom of the moat was so seductive.

She couldn't do it, of course. She thought of Rhaenyra, left to grow up without her mother's love, in the sole shelter of her father's adoration, of Alicent Hightower sitting next to Viserys and giving him sons who, according to the precedent set for her uncle Baelon and confirmed for Viserys, would take precedence before Rhaenyra. And even if Viserys didn't want to have the girl he adored supplanted, he would inevitably give way to a constant nagging and whispering in his ear. _Only through my dead body_, Aemma thought. _I'm going to live and give him sons, althought I don't want to lay eyes upon him ever again._

Her next thought was of Yohn Royce. Would he mourn her? She hadn't forgotten a thing. Did he remember? She desperately wished to see him and at the same time, she did not want to meet him here. He belonged to their sea and mountains, as strong as steady as them. _"Like and like, you and I"_, they had whispered to each other when he had visited the Eyrie, when they had been young and the world had been theirs. She imagined his eyes, blue and stormy like a sea gale. "We'll see each other again," she had promised him before she left for her wedding. "Soon. As… friends. We were always friends."

He had shaken his head. "No," he had said. "I wish it would be so but I can't. Because I love you so much that it hurts. I'll only take comfort in knowing that you're happy and…"

"What?" she had urged him.

"Living! Knowing that you walk this earth gracing it with your radiance."

There were those who loved her. Who would mourn her. She turned around to go back to her chambers but felt suddenly weak and slid down.

A moment later, Viserys and the two Kingsguard rushed to her. She let them do whatever they wanted.

* * *

"What are you doing here?"

Rhaenys lifted an eyebrow. As unusual as it was, with this silver hair, her eyebrows and eyelashes were dark, darker than Aemma's own.

"Waiting for you to wake up," she answered truthfully, and Aemma smiled reluctantly before remembering what had happened. Her smile died.

"Do you want some milk?" Rhaenys asked and Aemma nodded; after supporting her cousin's head to drink, Rhaenys wrapped her in additional cover and went to the window and opened the shutters. White light streamed in the bedchamber, cold and rosy and refreshing, bathing everything in purity.

"It's so lovely," Aemma murmured.

"It is," Rhaenys agreed. "These midwives thought they were doing you a favour by keeping you in this stifling chamber but I told them that they can rub you with hot towels and keep you warm. Fresh air has never killed anyone."

She was as curt and cheerful as ever. Aemma gave her a long look. To her annoyance, she felt as weak as a kitten. "I suppose Viserys summoned you?" she asked.

"He did," Rhaenys said. "I don't think I've ever seen him this frantic."

"So he should be," Aemma spat. "Did he tell you what happened?"

"About your fever? He did."

"Not this, Rhaenys. Did he tell you why I got this fever, why I ran through the Maegor's Holdfast in my nightshift alone?"

"No."

"Because I found Alicent Hightower in his bed."

Rhaenys thought that Aemma was still incoherent. Viserys would never be this indiscreet. Especially when she was struggling to give him an heir, exacting such a heavy toll on her own body. For Aemma, pregnancies were not as easy as they had been on Rhaenys'. She was now a prematurely aged woman. Viserys would never hurt her like that.

Except if… he didn't expect her to hear about it. All of a sudden, it all made sense.

"Viserys is a fool," she said curtly. "But he's a loyal one. You should have seen him at my arrival. He's beside himself with worry. He might be infatuated or what not with this girl but his feeling for you is as steady as ever."

"Steady," Aemma repeated with a bitter smile. That was all she was allowed to have. She sipped her milk again, and then gasped, let the goblet fall on the floor, and howled like an animal feeling its trap click.

* * *

Rhaenys had attended Aemma's former two births but she had never heard her cousin scream like that. The pains were too strong, coming too close together, with no time between them at all… and leading nowhere. The mouth of her womb would not open. They had moved her from the birthing chair to the bed, had held her upright, helped her stay on all fours… all for nothing.

Rhaenys had already lost any idea what time it was. The stench of the birthing chamber had soaked in her own skin and hair as certainly as the bodily fluids that kept gushing from Aemma. Her back hurt from leaning over her and her hands were bruised from where Aemma had clung to them. Yet some faint flicker of sympathy had moved her to leave her cousin's side not to get some much needed rest but go to the other person who was suffering, waiting… hoping…

"Still nothing," she said as soon as she entered the solar and Viserys waved everyone away.

"Why?" he asked. In the sunset his face looked spattered with blood. He had aged in years just in those last few days. He clearly hadn't slept since Aemma's labour had started… or rather, since she had caught him with the Hightower whore. Even in Driftmark, Rhaenys had heard about the girl's morals, or the lack thereof. Right now, she was willing to believe that the chit had bedded Daemon as she had Viserys.

"They don't know," she said and sighed. "When a woman gives birth again and again, sometimes her womb becomes feeble. Aemma has had many pregnancies."

He looked down. "But she's going to live, isn't she?" he asked.

Rhaenys looked aside. "Viserys, the maesters and midwives are doing everything they can."

The pain and guilt on his face were so obvious that her anger melted down. She held out a hand. "Go and eat something," she said. "Take a bath. Have some rest. You cannot help her."

He stared at her as if she had just grown another head. "Rest?" he echoed.

Rhaenys shivered, feeling just how stupid she had sounded. "Lit the fire," she said. "I am cold."

By the look on his face, she could say that he had not even noticed the cold hearth. And of course, no one would dare say anything. They had just been freezing to death silently and peacefully.

Clearly relieved to be given a task, he obeyed readily.

"Did she… tell you something?" he asked afterwards without looking at her.

"She did," Rhaenys said, an edge creeping back to her voice. "You know you are a fool, Viserys, don't you?"

"I'll never subject her to this again," he breathed, finally turning back to meet her eye. "Rhaenyra would be my heir. The lords can grumble all they want, I don't care. Only if she lives."

Once again, her anger melted away at the sight of his torment. He saw it, reached for her hands, grabbed them as desperately as Aemma had, seeking strength and reassurance just like she had. Rhaenys reached up; for a moment, they stood clinging to each other before she drew back.

"I have to go back to her," she said and he nodded.

She had not made it to the door when a pale-faced servant rushed in, sending them both running to Aemma's chambers.


	5. Storms and Forebodings

As always, thanks to everyone who reviewed, you keep my inspiration alive.

**WARNING**: _I am going against what is considered almost canon in ASOIAF: that Rhaenyra's first sons were fathered by her lover, rather than her husband. For this, I have two reasons: first, we don't know just how many Arryn, Baratheon and whatnot blood was at play. Genetic is a fascinating and random thing. In my life, I've met only two albinos – brothers who were not twins, from a family that had not produced an albino for as long as the village gossipers could remember. Such things happen. After all, in the ASOIAF world we only know of two cases of physical/developmental problems usually associated with brother/sister incest and they both manifested in Aegon/Helaena's children. And second, although I like the idea of an open marriage and believe that was what Rhaenyra and Laenor had, I really doubt it was _this_ open. No one would have let Laenor just strut around and do his thing without doing his duty first. Medieval royalty was very concerned with things like paternity and making sure that the succession was really _your_ succession. No one made compromises for Edward II (and no, _Braveheart_ is by no means historically accurate. Isabella of France would have probably had a fit if she had had any way of knowing that so many internet users today are magnifying her as an icon of feminist by claiming that her children – her eldest son, in particular – were fathered by anyone but her husband.), Philip of Orleans, or James I and VI. I don't believe anyone would have been all that understanding to Laenor Velaryon. The Sea Snake, in particular, doesn't strike me as the picture of parental sympathy. So, in this fic, I go with the idea that Laenor did his duty, was himself concerned with his children being his, as any authentic medieval noble would be, and Rhaenyra made a reasonable use of moon tea. And that the boys' looks were just a whim of nature, or whatever (by the way, nowhere is it mentioned that they looked like Harwin Strong and I imagine the Greens would have loved to spread it far and wide if this was the case. They simply looked… ordinary.) And an irony because Rhaenyra and Laenor got badmouthed for the thing they actually did right and instead probably had many real flaws overlooked, dwarfed by this delicious little scandal._

The Queen Who Should Have Been and the King Who Was

**Storms and Forebodings**

The dragons roared and the old woman laughed. High above the earth, Rhaenyra could see the smallfolk diving for cover and the hot breath of the mounts reached down, turning crops to ashes and rivers to barely crawling streamlets. She cracked her whip but the dragon wouldn't hear her and why should he? He wasn't Syrax. The dragons before her, the enemy, would not listen to their riders either and all she could do was cling to her saddle and watch helplessly as the Seven Kingdoms turned to a pyre beneath her.

She woke up drenched with sweat. The hand she raised to her face trembled. From the outside, the dragons shrieked in unison with the storm. _It must have been the storm_, Rhaenyra thought. _That's what gave me this nightmare._ But she had never been afraid of storms. On the contrary, they had always rocked her to sleep, like a lullaby.

The man next to her stirred. "What?" he asked sleepily but at touching her hand woke up immediately. "What's going on? You're cold as stone!"

Tremors started running through her and she held the covers more tightly against her. "Laenor, I saw death."

He should have reached for her and told her that it was all right, that it had only been a dream. Instead, he sighed and drew her near to get her warm. "That's what I've been saying for weeks," he said. "Something is brewing at Driftmark and I don't like it at all. Whatever it is, it can't be of any good to either us or my parents."

Rhaenyra's shaking only increased. Something bad was going to happen. Without a shade of doubt, she knew it was so. "Alicent," she spat and her husband gave her a look of dark amusement. In the light of the glowing embers, he looked even more handsome, almost perfect.

"Your trust in her abilities is quite touching," he said and she gave an angry hiss, not unlike Syrax. He stroked her back to calm her down. "I am not saying that I disagree," he went on. "But my money is on my dear cousins, as well. They have much to gain."

"Not nearly as much," Rhaenyra spat but she knew he was right. Driftmark might be next to nothing compared to the Seven Kingdoms but by itself, it was quite something. She was well aware of the rumours that one day, both the realm and the island would go to people who didn't have true Velaryon blood. The slights rose her ire first because of the daring and then because it was something that she had no control over. Neither she or Laenor could do anything to influence what their children looked like. They knew the truth but they could hardly explain it to every man, woman, and child in the Seven Kingdoms in person, now, could they? And why should they, anyway?

Anger had almost pushed fear aside. But after a while, with neither of them able to go back to sleep, Laenor said, "I'm leaving in the morning, as I have planned. And I'm leaving Seasmoke here."

Rhaenyra rose on her elbow. "Why?" she asked, although there could only be one answer. The last embers cracked and died.

"Do you want me to stoke the fire?" her husband asked.

"No," she replied.

"Because without Seasmoke, I have a better chance to reach Driftmark unrecognized and get a whiff of what's going on there. I've been dreaming of death in weeks and now you've started dreaming of it as well. I won't sit on my hands here and wait for your stepmother and my cousins to throw whatever they have in mind at us."

_Us._ Rhaenyra smiled a little at how naturally the word had come out of his mouth. _We've gone so far_, she thought, remembering how fiercely she had objected to the wedding. She had disliked everything about him and he had disliked everything about her. _We were too young and spoiled._ Doing their duty had been repellant to both, yet here they were, in this bed, when a few years ago Laenor would have left immediately after the act. She still preferred Harwin – very much – and Laenor had his own preferences but somehow, through the years, they had become a team, comfortable with each other. The fact that he had never liked her when she had been in the bloom of her beauty made her relaxed about the way she looked now. She trusted no other man as she did him, for their aim was one and the same.

"Soon," she said with sudden vigour, "we'll have a girl and she will look like us."

"May it be so," he agreed. "But even if she doesn't, what of it? The King will make your stepmother shut up and I can deal with my cousins if they dare to do something beyond spreading rumours." He laughed a little. "My means of persuasion is roaring outside right now."

She laughed as well. Now, she was not cold at all. "Feeding Seasmoke a diet of carcasses, you mean?"

"Only those who don't think before they slander their future queen and I," he replied nonchalantly. "I have too many cousins anyway."

She smiled, delighted. _He's the perfect match for me_, she realized. Not in bed, not in intimate affections but where thrones and dragons were concerned. Not as perfect as Daemon would have been, of course, but a lot better than she had expected by looking at his unusual beauty, intimate preferences, and soft manners.

The storm outside kept howling with new might. Traces of her dream came back to her. She shuddered once again and snuggled close. "Don't go," she said, surprising herself as much as him. "Laenor, something bad is going to happen."

He ran a hand over her cheek. "That's what I am trying to prevent."

Reason told her that he was right. Hiding and waiting had never been her style. She could not explain the ominous feeling that would not relax its grip on her, her fear for him. What could he fear at Driftmark? Who would dare harm Corlys' son in the seat of Velaryon power?

"I know you're right," she finally sighed. "Just take care, will you? And come back as soon as you can."

In the darkness, he tried to see her face, disturbed by the strange tone of her voice. "What is this, Rhaenyra? You mean you'll miss me?"

"Of course not," she sniffled.

"And you won't think about me?"

"Not for a moment!"

He grinned. "That's my future queen."

She laughed shakily and tried to forget the storm behind their window, the first storm she feared in her life.

* * *

"We _will_ find him, Rhaenys. I promise you."

She didn't look at him. "Of course. You _promise_."

He bristled with anger. Her tone was skeptical enough to show what she thought of his promises. Even Alicent didn't dare…

"He is going to pay," he said, reining his fury in. She had just lost her son, on top of her daughter. She deserved a little sympathy. She had never been a niggard at giving it to others.

Finally, Rhaenys looked at him and he was startled by the intensity of her purple stare. Her eyes were dry and focused, burning a hole in his own. "And you really think we'll catch him alive?"

The King understood her meaning. Yes, he intended to make sure that Carrey was brought to him alive… as scared as he was by what the man might blabber. But he would never admit it to Rhaenys. And he still hoped it wasn't true.

He looked at her. As stoic and controlled as ever, she wore her dark mourning gown as if it was the royal mantle she had been refused. Her face was carefully painted, her hair immaculately styled. _She isn't even mourning_, he had heard one of Alicent's ladies say and he had ordered her to keep her mouth shut until she learned to use it better. Rhaenys' immaculate attire was her armour for the world, he could feel it and it saddened him greatly.

Deep inside, he knew that her doubts were justified. He didn't believe Qarl Carrey had been acting on his own accord either and he didn't believe that whomever had set him on that would just let them have him. He didn't want to know. But that did not mean that he wouldn't do his best to find out the truth. He could only hope Rhaenys was wrong about it.

"We _will_ find him," he said again. "Justice will prevail."

"When had it ever?" Rhaenys asked without looking at him. "When had there ever been justice for me and mine?"

Viserys blushed. Unbelievable! After all those years, he still felt a faint trace of guilt for being chosen over her. The fact that she spoke of it, at last, showed him just how upset and incapable to control herself she was. Since the day their grandfather had first passed her over, she had never spoken about her disappointment, her betrayal, her bitterness.

He had prepared for this conversation hundreds of times. Thousands. He had had his words at the ready, yet now they evaded him. And it wasn't about the throne, really. That made the words even harder.

Before he could figure out what to say, someone knocked discreetly at the door. At Rhaenys' admission, the person came in; surprised, Viserys saw that it was not one of the servants but Helaena, with a silver tray in her hands. At seeing her father here, she startled and feeling the looks of both Viserys and Rhaenys on her, she blushed.

"I… I am sorry," she stuttered. "I only thought you might like some tea, my lady, and since the handmaidens weren't sure whether you'd welcome a disturbance…"

Rhaenys smiled faintly but sincerely. "Thank you," she said. "You can leave it there. Take a seat."

Helaena did so, clearly uncomfortable, realizing that she had interrupted something. Rhaenys poured tea for all three of them.

No one felt like maintaining a small conversation, so after drinking her tea and satisfying herself that Rhaenys had everything she needed, Helaena excused herself and left. Rhaenys went to see her off and closed the heavy oak door herself. The aquamarine hangings everywhere had been replaced with black, Viserys noticed absent-mindedly.

"She's such a nice child." There was a slight surprise in Rhaenys' voice, although it was still distant.

"She is," Viserys agreed. Helaena never failed to bring warmth to his heart in a way her elder brothers couldn't.

Now, Rhaenys turned to him to give him a full look. "She reminds me of Aemma," she said.

_So she, too, has noticed it._ Sometimes, Viserys almost wished he could go to the maesters and ask whether a dead woman can bring soul to an unborn child. He had never thought of Aemma as often as he had around the time of Helaena's conception. At the time, his differences with Alicent had started to become obvious. Sometimes, he could swear that Helaena was Aemma's – somehow. Pleasant. Happy. Trying to take care of others. The fact that Rhaenys had seem the resemblance suddenly scared him, although he didn't know the reason.

"You should have married Laena," Rhaenys suddenly said, her voice catching at her daughter's name. "You would have been far better off with her as your queen."

He huffed, refusing to pay any mind to this annoying chest pain that had just flared again. "As if you would have not connived for the crown, too! You would have invoked any reason, claimed any support you could."

In the sunlight bathing her from behind, Rhaenys looked as pure and innocent as his daughter. Her smile, though, was old, knowing. "Yes but we would have accepted your decision. As we did when I was passed over not once or twice. Face it, Viserys, you created a situation that you can see no escape from. Sooner or later, dragons will dance and you can do nothing to prevent it."

"Is that so?"

He didn't care how pitiful he must sound to her.

"The past is in the past. Rhaenys, what should I do now? Give me an advice. You're wiser than most people give you credit for and you'd rather not see the realm sunken in rivers of blood. Help me."

She gave him a long level look. "I understand you. There is only one way to avoid the final clash, Viserys, the clash that will come when you're no more."

He turned white. Shook his head. Waited for the world to right itself again. "No. Not this."

Rhaenys sighed. "I understand you now, as well…"

And she did. In his place, she could have never made a choice, either. Once again, she felt the disaster that he had brought over them with his remarriage.

Viserys reached for his tea and she did the same. For a while, they sat silently. Soon, Rhaenys' eyes became distant again. Viserys thought of the horrifying advice she had just given him and despite everything, admired her for the bravery to say things as they were. All of a sudden, he remembered how they had climbed the trees in the gardens of the Red Keep when they had been children. Rhaenys had always chosen a new one and started climbing vigorously. Viserys could have reached the top of his tree before her but he had never done it. He had only wanted to follow her.


	6. Epilogue

**As always, thanks to everyone who reviewed, you're a great help to me and my inspiration!**

_The Queen Who Should Have Been and the King Who Was_

**Epilogue**

Outside, a lovely day caressed the land with the soft whisper of a coming spring and budding flowers. Rhaenys had always loved spring – the scent of it, the brighter light, the promise of renewal. Her children and Corlys had always claimed that even the scent of sea changed with seasons but for all her years at Driftmark, she had never felt the change. At Dragonstone, there had been no one to tell her what to look for.

But this spring would be less radiant. Rhaenys could not say why she thought so. Maesters did not share that opinion and yet she could feel it by the cold in her bones. _I might be wrong_, though, she thought. _Since Laena and Laenor died, everything looks colder to me… _She looked away from the ominous spikes lining the dry moat and her eyes fell onto the man guarding the drawbridge.

Her surprise must have been visible, for he gave her a questioning look before remembering whom he was addressing. Rhaenys smiled and stopped a few steps away from him. "I apologize, Ser," she said. "It's just that I am so used to your brother that I was a little stunned, thinking that it was him whom I was seeing."

Ser Arryk Cargyll smiled briefly but there was sadness in his eyes. The hostility between the two factions had become such that distrust was a constant flavour of every interaction. He and Ser Erryk probably couldn't hold a conversation uninhibited by a touch of the hatred tearing the royal family apart.

With a heavy heart, Rhaenys proceeded to the King's chambers where the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard refused to let her in. "His Grace is resting," he announced. His voice was even but his green eyes were trying to burn holes into her. _So many years, and he still hasn't forgotten. There are men who can nurse their grudge better than dragons._ Rhaenys didn't bother to even shrug away his enmity. This son of a steward was hardly worth it. What did he know of duties and thrones!

"I am not going to intrude," she said. "I only want to know whether he'd accept me."

Criston Cole shook his head. "No one is allowed to disturb the King's rest. Her Grace's orders."

_Of course it's Her Grace's orders_, Rhaenys thought absent-mindedly. The Hightower woman would never accept that hers was not the only female voice Viserys listened to. His love for Rhaenyra and affection to Rhaenys had been a thorn in her side since the very beginning of her marital life.

She was about to say that maybe the Queen wasn't aware of the old friendship that had existed between Rhaenys and Viserys far before King Jaehaerys took notice of her but Ser Steffon Darklyn preempted her. "The King ordered that the Princess be admitted as soon as she comes," he said, making it sound as if Viserys expected her. Rhaenys did not correct him, not when the result was an open door and Ser Steffon sent to accompany her to the King's bedchamber.

"Thank you," Rhaenys said under her breath. "I won't forget it."

His bright blue eyes gave her the look that once, for a while, had made her breath catch – a long time ago when she had been a silly girl knowing nothing of love and duty. Rhaenyra had not been the first princess taken by a daring smile and broad shoulders under a white cloak. "And I won't forget how close you were before your lord father died," he replied. "You and the King, and Queen Aemma. It's a shame that things turned out this way."

He'd never allow himself to say something more – Rhaenys knew that. A Kingsguard would never criticize a decision of the King's aloud. She, however, barely refrained from doing the same.

The bedchamber was darkened and full of heavy scents – herbs and potions, Rhaenys supposed. She wanted to open the shutters, for sunlight had never rendered anyone sick, but first, she went to the bed. "Viserys?" she murmured. "Are you awake?"

If he wasn't, she wouldn't wake him up. But he answered immediately. "Don't open the shutters. I've got a headache…"

Rhaenys smiled a little at the thought that he knew what she was going to do. After a few moments, her eyes got used to the semi-darkness. Viserys opened the bed curtains and showed her to take a seat at his bedside. She did so, silently.

With the years, Viserys had turned into a veritable mountain of flesh. His recent sickness had lent a sickly pallor to his face. His eyes, deeply sunken into the fat of his face, were tired… and lucid. Attentive.

"What happened last night?" he asked, reclining against a few pillows. "After I left."

Rhaenys looked down to hide her anger. Who had told him, Alicent? Rhaenyra? Aegon, maybe? Whomever it was, couldn't they have spared him the ugly truth? He hadn't recovered yet. Couldn't the members of his family learn to keep their resentments to themselves, not coming here to cry at him? Just this time?

"Nothing out of order," she said, doing her best to sound dismissive. "You know that the boys can stand each other even less than Alicent and Rhaenyra do."

"Yet those two can get along with everyone else, or almost everyone else," he murmured. "Just not each other."

_Well, what did you expect? What did you think was going to happen when you wed Alicent? Were you thinking at all, or were you just guided by feelings? _But it would be too cruel to say that aloud. He had asked himself the same questions hundreds of times. He had just been in love, for the first time in his life. Rhaenys remembered Aemma's sobs in the night before her wedding. She had been so in love with her Vale boy. But in the morning she had stood at Viserys' side, beaming. Then, Rhaenys' thoughts went to the young Steffon Darklyn and her own disappointment at marrying a much older man_. If you cannot be with the one you love, love the one you are with._ It had worked for her, better than she had hoped. But it had not worked for Viserys and Aemma. And no one could say why, such a complex thing human heart was. She would not add to Viserys' burden by stating the obvious.

"I came to say goodbye," she said. "Corlys and I are going home."

"Everyone is going home," he murmured. "Rhaenyra and the boys left not long ago… but surely you already know it."

"They came to say goodbye to us, as well," she confirmed.

He reached for his goblet of water and drank, his face contorted in pain.

"Do you need something?" Rhaenys asked, rising. "Should I summon the servants?"

He shook his head. "No," he said. "Just stay here."

Rhaenys had just been thinking of saying her goodbyes and leaving because she feared that as exhausted as he was, her presence might tire him further, no matter how beneficial it might be for his spirit. But looking at the darkened chamber, the many books at both sides of the bed, the piles of parchment on every table, she suddenly wondered whether he had any visitors at all, besides his councilors. It was clear that books were his way of spending time when not working. Did the Hightower woman come to keep him company at all, or only to demand this or that, and before all else the very thing he would not give? Helaena was too occupied with her children who were having various troubles with their development, as well as the new babe she was expecting. Daeron was at Oldtown. And Aegon and Aemond were not people who would lose time on such a task. Not that Rhaenys would want them to. They were the last company an ill man needed. The last one.

She sank back in her seat. The silence lingered but they did not feel uncomfortable. "Are you sure you don't want anything?" Rhaenys asked again. "Some tea, perhaps?"

He frowned. "What I want," he declared, "is to have this back pain stop."

"Don't you want to hang the moon on this candelabra, as well," she murmured and he smiled.

"Why, thank you! You're so very encouraging!"

"I did not mean…" she started and then saw the small flicker in his eye that showed her what was going on. "You're doing it again," she accused.

His smile grew wider. "You need a gest from time to time. You're too serious."

"Are you trying to take over Mushroom's occupation?" she demanded politely, making him chuckle.

"Maybe I should," he mused. "I might make an excellent fool, don't you think?"

"An amazing one," she agreed curtly but he could swear he had seen the corners of her mouth twitch.

"Do you want me to rub your back?" Rhaenys suddenly asked, leaving them both surprised. "That might help."

Viserys' instinctive response was to tell her not to bother but he reconsidered. Such a thing always relieved him and somehow he knew that Rhaenys would be no worse than any maester. She had given him such massages often while they had been growing. The very fact that she had suggested made him so grateful that he was ready to take the moon down just for her. It felt so nice to have someone care enough to try.

It would be best if he could lie on his belly but with his extreme stoutness, that was simply not an option. Instead, he turned on his side. Rhaenys' hands felt so small and insignificant against the vast portion of flesh they were kneading, yet her fingers were firm, alleviating the pain; after a while, he murmured, "If you were my wife, I would have made you do this every day and we would have seen what would prevail – my corpulence, or your hands."

She huffed. Now, her fingers started stroking him softly. "If you were my husband, you'd never have gotten this corpulent, in the first place. A dragon whip is a very useful tool."

Viserys choked with laugher at the image of the Seasnake running down the halls of Driftmark while Rhaenys chased after him with Meleys' whip in hand. No wonder the old bastard was so fit!

"Is that so?" he asked. "May I watch the next time?

"Absolutely no," Rhaenys said firmly but he could feel the smile in her voice. "You're…" she went on and paused.

"Yes?" he urged. "I am incorrigible, is that what you meant?"

"I don't think I would want you to be different," she replied and this small confession warmed his heart.

After the massage ended, Rhaenys poured him another goblet of water and then poured one for herself, as well. There was no need to talk, they both knew that this goodbye would be probably their last one. Rhaenys would have no reason to come back soon and anyway, Alicent wouldn't like it if she did – and she would make it clear. They had already said everything, good and bad, in the years before. He leaned back against the pillows. "Rhaenys," he suddenly spoke. "If you could live your life again, would you have excluded me of it?"

She startled. "What kind of question is that?"

His eyes told her that it was a serious one. He now lived reminded every day of his failings. And after a lifetime of trying to please everyone, he would like to know whether he had been a burden in her life. After all that happened, that would be a reasonable thought.

"No," she said. "The world needs good people. Such who try to make the others happy. I need good people," she added and saw his grateful smile.

They whiled the morning away with small talks and fond memories, avoiding delicate topics. Once again, Rhaenys was reminded of just how well she felt in his company and mourned for all the years they had lost. He was sharp-witted, amusing, and a joy to be around. She felt a stir of pity for the Hightower woman who had probably never had the chance to see that, too engulfed in her attempts to grasp something that Viserys kept out of her reach.

"I have to go," she finally said, reluctantly. She didn't want to leave him.

"Yes," he agreed unhappily, the walls of the limited world that was his apartment closing around him once again. "Fly fast, fly safe," he murmured without meaning to. The old spell they had used to wish each other's luck as they had been still learning to fly their dragons.

"I will," she said.

He watched as she walked to the door, feeling sad and abandoned. How had it come to this? How had they, who had started their lives with so much promise, been reduced to this? Rhaenys, going to a home where her children weren't alive to welcome her; he, caught in the prison of his own flesh, waiting for death to release him and have his children seizing each other by the throat over the throne.. Would they see each other again? Would they recognize each other if they did? Or would life keep changing them even more severely?

"Viserys!"

Rhaenys turned all of a sudden, his name still a strangled sob on her lips. He looked at her, surprised.

Rhaenys crosses swiftly back to the bed, stroked his cheek, leaned over and kissed his forehead. Her lips lingered there, as if she was leaving him something of herself.

**The End**

**Once again, thanks to each and every reviewer for keeping me willing to write!**


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